Still There
by Blue Moons and Pink Suns
Summary: Slight AU to Season 3. There's a small window between Carol being rescued from the tombs and Glenn and Maggie going missing. Carol's best friend is gone, and her cell is empty without her. Caryl.


**AN #1: Slight AU to S3; there's a gap between Carol's rescue from the tombs and Maggie and Glenn's capture. Lori's gone, and Carol finds herself without a cell mate.******

**Disclaimer: I do not own or write for TWD or AMC. I am not being paid at all for my stories, just typing away for fun. :)******

**-/-/-/-**

The cell was too quiet.

The baby was sleeping soundly, her little huffs of breath coming deeply and quick. Beth was below her with Hershel, Rick and Carl on watch. Maggie and Glenn were together as well.

She was all alone.

The loss of her friend had hit her like a freight train, slamming her with pain and loss so deep she had sobbed with Rick that morning. But now, as she lay here alone, with her best friend departed from this world, no one to talk to or dream with about better days and chocolate and baby names, the loneliness crept in, left her feeling abandoned and regretful.

And scared. She was scared.

Her and Lori had always shared a bed when the mother had been fighting with her husband. Lori had needed someone, or thing, to support her legs, her hips, to be able to sleep at all.

She missed her friend's soft breaths on the nape of her neck, the comforting bump and tremble of an active baby just inches from her skin. She missed her friends arms around her, the simple comfort of having someone there, someone near her, to hold her and to share her warmth with.

She was cold. She was alone. And she missed her friend so very much.

But she couldn't mourn for her, couldn't draw any attention to herself. It was Rick and Carl's time to mourn, not hers.

But she couldn't stop the soft sobs from wracking her body as the mental image of Lori's body quaking, her screaming in pain as Maggie brought a walker-bloodstained knife down into her flesh, slicing and digging around crudely to lift the little baby from her mother, taking the life right from her.

And suddenly the sobs weren't so soft, her cries not so quiet, and she buried her face against her pillow as she grieved her own weakness, her own inadequacy. She couldn't save her. She couldn't save her.

She heard a creak from the cell door and choked on her cries, slapping a hand over her mouth as she rolled over to see who - or what - was watching her.

He stood there, watching her, not quite in her cell but not quite outside it, either.

"Daryl?" She whispered roughly, her voice crackling with the force of her tears.

The man side stepped into the small room soundlessly, toeing off his boots and walking towards her.

"Scoot over," he whispered softly, pulling the threadbare blanket away as she pressed herself against the concrete wall in shock.

He eased onto the bed and pulled the blanket over them, tucking it up over his shoulders. He rolled over onto his side and stared at the back of her head in silence.

They laid there, awkward, until he spoke up again.

"I miss her, too," he whispered. "Her and T."

Her eyes started to fill again, her chin quivering at her other friend's name. Oh, T.

She breathed deep, and then his arms were around her tentatively, pulling her slowly into his chest and tucking her head under his chin.

"But I missed you more," he rumbled.

She held his hands in hers on her stomach, felt his strong, purposeful muscles pressed against her gently, breathing in harmony with her breaths.

"I just wish I could have said good-bye," she choked out finally, starting to cry again as her final image of her friend swam behind her eyes, face stern and purposeful as she popped off the walkers one by one.

She felt him kiss the back of her neck, let his mouth linger there, his breathing slow and steady, a constant, an anchor.

And somewhere, in the back of her mind, she registered that the Daryl before the baby's birth would never had done this, that the most comfort he could provide at Sophia's death was his presence.

Maybe something had changed, him almost losing her. Maybe the deaths of their friends, she almost dying herself, had changed him.

But the thought was fleeting. He was here, beside her, holding her as she cried and sobbed and grieved, stroking her hands and holding her against him gently, hushing her softly.

She cried herself to sleep that night, feeling not quite so alone, not quite so sad, not quite so scared.

And when she woke, he was still there, his arms like a vice around her, clutching her to him.

**-/-/-/-******

**AN #2: Oh, such sweetness! I think I may have put myself into a sugar coma.******

**Reviews are much appreciated!**


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